


there's a screen on my chest

by yxuraffectionatelaurens



Series: Out Of Student Loans and Treehouse Homes, We All Would Take The Ladder [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: """""light"""", Gen, Kudos if u can actually figure out who's dead and who's alive, Light Angst, Single mom Eliza, Wither precursor, mentions of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yxuraffectionatelaurens/pseuds/yxuraffectionatelaurens
Summary: Philip asks for advice, and he isn't quite certain how to respond; he's been in love for thirteen years, but lost all that four years ago.





	

_+4_

The gentle lull of the gears shifting automatically under his feet, turning the wheel, pulling onto a new street. Philip shifts in the passenger seat next to him - his cleats untied, curly hair hanging in his face. 

He flips on the turning signal, looks over at the teenager next to him, close enough to be his son, so much hanging unspoken between them. Philip’s fingernails are dirty, and he picks gently at his teeth with one finger, ignoring the looks, ignoring the heavy silence.

“Have you ever been in love?” Philip asks, and he can tell the kid immediately regrets it, forehead flat against the window, wincing slightly. Rain patters against the window, leaving a dotted pattern, some drops sliding down and making long trails against the cold glass. “Fuck, don’t answer that, just kidding, it’s stupid, forget it.”

He chuckles, turns onto another street. The wheel is soft and leathery under his fingertips. It’s been a good few years since Phil was adopted, this is something they haven’t breached, something that sits under his fingertips and brushes the wheel. He isn’t even close to being Phil’s guardian, he’s Eliza’s son, _why’s asking me of all people -_

“Wherever you were going with that, it’s not stupid. What’s up?” Philip is shifting uncomfortably, hands in his lap, presses the home button on his iPhone to stare for a few minutes at the lock screen like he didn’t hear the question. “Pip?" 

The leather of the seats is soft in the light that passes over the car every time they drive under a stoplight. Muddy yellows make the car interior soft greys, shades of diminished exhaustion in his face. Eliza’s home is close, they’re nearby, Philip looks like he’s searching for a way out. 

“Just wondering. Most of your friends, most of Mom’s friends, they’ve all got someone, or someones, I guess, and you’re kinda… lonely.” 

"I’m not lonely. I’ve got your mom, her sisters, they’re way cooler than I’ll ever be. All her friends are my friends." 

“Even the Jeffersons?” 

"Even the Jeffersons.” Philip snorts, his face scrunched a little when he rests his chin in his hand. Watching the soaked world blur past, the distorted, blurry colors of the streetlights slurring overhead. “You got someone in mind, kid?” 

Philip doesn’t respond. He watches the way his muddied hands fidget nervously, knows the assertion was right, knows that someone weighs on his mind as he sits there hugging his knees in the passenger seat. 

“You don’t have to do this for my mom, you know. She says you’re busy.” A murmur, so uncharacteristically soft. Philip’s probably just tired from practice, he tells himself, tries not to think about the question still slipping around the edges of his consciousness. 

__You’re so much like him, he really loves your company. Thank you for bringing him home on Thursdays, thank you for your help, thank you for everything. But you know you don’t… you don’t have to, right?_ _

__So many ways he could’ve replied to Eliza’s stare, her warm, but concerned eyes, her fingers resting on the doorknob. _I don’t like being home alone. It’s not fun to be third wheeled. Ever since I lost Sam, I’m too lonely. Can’t ignore my job, I’m out saving lives, you know. I’m a night owl.__ _

Philip looks at him, and his eyes are filled with curiosity. “She says you've been like this ever since _he_ died. Always trying to help." 

Instead, he’d given her, _he’s so much like_ him, _‘Liza, how can I not?_

The sound of cars flying by on the freeway, blurs of color, the smell of rain filtering through the air conditioning vents. He knows exactly who he’s talking about, even if Philip doesn't. 

He runs a hand through his thick hair, his heartstrings taut and eager. All of it, every waking moment, every night spent in helpless tears and tight holds afraid of the moment when their time would run out making anxiety prickle under his skin. Hospital visits - the Mets game - friends packed into their apartment, the one he’d moved out of years ago - bills packed with medical costs and _I’m sorry, it’s spread too far, we can’t control it._

His memory’s never been the best. 

He can remember every single thought that flooded through his head when Hercules rang him from the hospital waiting room, voice clouded with confusion and fear and _get down here right now._

He can remember the way it felt to sit at his side, touch his dark hair, look for some glimpse of the smile he was so well acquainted with. He was met with eyes that asked _what’s going to happen to us? To me?_ and tears slipping down his cheeks. He can remember the doctor apologizing, Eliza slipping in from her own shift to gather the two of them in her arms, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ and Eliza’s apologies felt so much more real. 

He doesn’t go to Mets games any more. 

“Yeah, I’ve been in love,” He answers, and Philip’s expression softens even more. “We don’t talk about it a lot because… we just don’t, it was a while ago. Everyone’s figured out how to cope, so we just… don’t talk about it.” 

“Have you?” 

He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive until they pull up in front of Eliza’s building. The wipers push water across the windshield, tiny streaks across the glass, aches for warm, calloused hands, aches for him, and wishes he was four years younger again for millionth first time that week. 

“Hey, Pip?” 

Philip’s pushing on the door handle, and he reaches out to him a last time before he gets out of the car. 

“Uh, yeah?” 

"It’s worth it. If you’re thinking about it. Go for it.” He offers a smile - Philip pushes his hair out of his face, and nods. He receives a smile back, a genuine one, and Philip pulls his jersey off the back of the seat and shields his eyes from the rain. “Okay?” 

"Yeah, sure, whatever, we’ll see.” But it’s genuine too. Rain drips from the open door onto the passenger seat, and Philip waves a little before he can close the car door. “Thank you.” 

"Have a good night, Philip.” 

Eliza gives him a wave, too, when she sees his car on the street, engine humming, beams of light breaking the rainy evening. He gives her a casual two finger salute and a grin, eases on the gas, turns down four more streets. 

Four streets away from where Philip, Eliza, and Angie are eating a homemade dinner and drinking hot chocolate, from where Philip’s hair drips onto the table and Angelica tells her sister’s children stories that make Eliza smack her on the shoulder lightly, he parks by a playground. Pulls up a photo album on his phone full of a dark haired boy with wide eyes and a curly haired boy with bright eyes planning on taking over the world, thumbs through pictures until he dissolves into tears against the steering wheel. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ambiguous narrators foreshadowing is my entire life.
> 
> Come bother me about the founding fathers and high fantasy and other quality trash at yxuraffectionatelaurens over on tumblr.


End file.
